


The Stress Test Affair

by xisney



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xisney/pseuds/xisney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya Kuryakin models a new, experimental suit and it makes Napoleon sexually frustrated in this emotionally charged fanfiction. (Disclaimer: Not actually emotionally charged.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stress Test Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pikeisaman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikeisaman/gifts).



Napoleon stood in one of U.N.C.L.E.’s lab offices with Mr. Waverly. Both U.N.C.L.E. agents held clipboards with printed statistics that they read through. The information described a new suit a few of the scientists in the lab came up with it to help with the field agents’ infiltration. Napoleon learned that the suit was designed specifically for Illya, and while Napoleon risked his life on a mission to undermine one of T.H.R.U.S.H.’s infiltration attempts, Illya ended up prancing around in a new outfit.

“Why didn’t I get a new suit, sir?” Napoleon asked.

Mr. Waverly said, “Because the scientists in the lab thought Mr. Kuryakin would get more use out of it. You have to admit, Mr. Solo, that Mr. Kuryakin does a lot more of the dirty work than you do. He’s always scaling walls and climbing through sewers to get into a place, while you slip into a tux and try to charm your way in. I suppose while you struggle to get in the front door, Mr. Kuryakin is much more adept at getting into the back door.” He gave Napoleon a smile that was just a bit too knowing.

Napoleon nodded and returned to busing himself with the statistics, but they were boring and his mind wandered. He thought about how on he and Illya never had a chance to celebrate their last mission’s victory in the intimate way he liked because Mr. Waverly already sent him off on a new, extremely time-sensitive mission. And the girl he met while on this mission failed to put out despite his cripplingly charming flirtations. She teased him back – how couldn’t she? – but when the time came to seal their romantic interlude, he received a light kiss on the cheek and a, “I’ll call you if I’m ever in New York.” And it would be one call Napoleon wouldn’t return.

He had hoped to see Illya first, and privately, to work out some of his built-up tension, but Mr. Waverly immediately stuffed the clipboard into his hand and made Illya demonstrate the new suit while the scientist expanded on the details the clipboard held. Napoleon’s limbs were still stiff from his last mission, and he was certain unattractive bags hung beneath his eyes. He had, however, managed to squeeze into a fresh suit before the flight, so he thought he looked like his usual, stunning self.

And it helped that the clipboard described this new suit as “skin-tight.” He looked forward to seeing Illya’s form squeezed into some masculine cat suit. And he looked even more forward to peeling Illya out of it.

Napoleon’s jaw lowered ever-so-slightly as Illya walked into the room. The Russian wore the suit the documents explained, but skin-tight hardly described the way in which the suit hugged his body. Napoleon would have used the words “painted on” or “nearly pornographic.” Illya walked naturally in the black suit that covered everything from the chin down. It looked like a second skin, clinging to every slight curve of his body and every muscle. It only hung loose at the neck behind his head, and Napoleon knew that it transformed into a hood.

The worst part, at least the worst part for Napoleon as an observer in a room with his superior, was that Illya’s testicles and penis sat clearly in the front of the suit, pressing against the obscene fabric as if to join the party. Neither Waverly nor the scientist seemed disturbed by their presence, and maybe if Napoleon didn’t enjoy their company so much in private, their public presence wouldn’t have made him uncomfortable.

Napoleon subtly lowered the clipboard over his groin.

And Illya gave him the smallest smile as he walked past Napoleon. Napoleon tried to decide if it was a little smug, but he couldn’t decide why the Russian would be smug. Napoleon knew he would look just as excellent in the suit as Illya – it only made sense, he would have to – but maybe he was just smug since the suit was made for him instead of Napoleon. Or maybe it was because Illya knew Napoleon was struggling with his self-control.

“Ah, here he is,” Mr. Waverly said, though Napoleon found it hard to believe anyone wouldn’t have noticed Illya walking around in the near-nude. “Could you put the hood up, Mr. Kuryakin?”

Illya complied with a nod, covering up his straw-blond hair with the black hood. He tucked a few strands of his bangs beneath it, and his blue eyes stared blankly ahead like a model.

The scientist piped up, “He should be nearly undetectable at night or in dark places, especially if he manages to smudge some sort of camouflage onto his face. We considered making a mask portion to it – something that would help protect the eyes and mouth – but we’ve had some, er, breathing issues in our prototypes.”

Rubbing his temples, Napoleon moved closer to Waverly and the scientist, half-listening and half-watching Illya, careful not to let his eyes drift too low. He glanced around, checking to see where the other’s eyes landed. Neither of them seemed at all interested in Illya’s testicles on display. And part of him was angry that they didn’t seem distracted. Sure, he was sexually frustrated and would have wanted to ravish the Russian regardless, but when a man walks around in a dangerous situation with his manly cargo out, people should be concerned.

The scientist prattled on, “The suit’s designed to move quietly and smoothly through any terrain. If Mr. Kuryakin has to squeeze through vents, the fabric won’t cling or squeak against the noisy walls. We put in carefully weighted soles at the bottom of his feet, so while his foot is protected if he steps on something, he should still be able to swim perfectly fine. We still need to do a few extra tests with water to make sure no water gets in through the seams.”

Illya turned around absently, giving Napoleon a view of his butt. Napoleon rubbed his face. He couldn’t decide which was worse. Illya’s butt pressing against the fabric was less embarrassing, but it was all the more inviting. He knew how his hands felt pressed up against Illya’s ass, and that when Illya’s body curved against his own, the Russian’s ass fit perfect up against his groin.

He kept the clipboard firmly against his groin and continuing thinking about groping Illya’s ass while the scientist continued, “It has a small amount of defence against fire, though the face is still uncovered. I’m a little disappointed suffocation is such an issue with the suit. He wouldn’t be able to stand while someone shot a flamethrower at him, but if he covered his face, he could jump through a wall of fire blocking his way. The other issue would be a lack of oxygen, of course, but we can’t do much about that. It wouldn’t be safe for Mr. Kuryakin to go around running through fire with an oxygen tank on his back, but there are measures we can take for if he goes swimming – through a sewer, perhaps.”

Mr. Waverly asked, “How restricting is the suit? Does it hinder any movement because it is so close to the skin?”

“No,” the scientist explained. “Mr. Kuryakin, you can show them.”

Napoleon stopped listening as Illya started doing various gymnastic moves, and he decided he would have to see Illya immediately after this presentation. He could feel his own pants becoming increasingly tight and uncomfortable, and he wondered how the suit would react if Illya got an erection. That wasn’t exactly something he could ask, was it?

The scientist continued to prattle on about the fabric and its various strengths and limitations and Napoleon could feel his mouth grow drier and his face grow hotter. Illya stopped doing gymnastics and went back to standing stoically. Napoleon tried to catch his eye, but the Russian ignored him. He wondered if Illya enjoyed being on display and teasing him like this.

The scientist asked Mr. Waverly, “Do you have any concerns? I’m sure Mr. Kuryakin will get a lot of use out the suit, and we should be completed with all the tests within the month.”

Before Mr. Waverly could answer, Napoleon asked, “Is there any extra layers of protection aside from on the soles of his feet?”

“No,” the scientist replied. “We hoped to make a model that he could put over a suit, but it greatly hindered Mr. Kuryakin’s movement, and he stressed how important it was for him to move freely.”

Napoleon cleared his throat and said, “Can you think of any other areas that would need protection aside from the soles of his feet?”

The scientist shrugged, and Mr. Waverly gave Napoleon a tired look. The scientist said, “I’m under the impression that you and Mr. Kuryakin go into a large majority of your field missions in your regular suits without any vests, so Mr. Kuryakin would be used to dodging whatever people throw at him.”

With a smile, Mr. Waverly said firmly to Napoleon, “If you have a specific concern, you should just come out and say it, Mr. Solo.” His eyes darted down to Napoleon’s clipboard, and Napoleon frowned as he realized that his discomfort amused Mr. Waverly.

“I’m concerned about his, erm, about Mr. Kuryakin’s prized possessions.”

The scientist looked confused, “We thought about adding pockets, but Mr. Kuryakin insisted on the freedom of movement and said he could carry a bag.”

Napoleon looked to Mr. Waverly for help, but the old man’s smile just widened. Napoleon said, “I mean his testicles. Is it really safe for them to just be, er, hanging free?”

The scientist rubbed his chin. “I suppose we could look into a cup. Mr. Kuryakin never complained, so we never really considered it.”

“I suppose not all of our agents are thinking about their reproductive equipment quite as much as you are, Mr. Solo,” Mr. Waverly said, clearly trying to hide his smile when the scientist looked at him.

“We’ll raise the issue to Mr. Kuryakin and see what he has to say,” the scientist said. “But if we do make a duplicate model for you, we’ll look into the best measures to protect your – uh – yourself.”

“Thank you,” Napoleon said, somewhat sheepishly.

“Now, perhaps you could show me all the previous prototypes and plans,” Mr. Waverly said to the scientist. “I would like to see what you’ve already rejected and what your future plans are,” He turned to Napoleon when he added, “Mr. Solo, you and Mr. Kuryakin are free to return to the office for now.”

“Yes, sir,” Napoleon said.

Mr. Waverly and the scientist drifted out of the room, and Illya approached Napoleon with a small, mischievous smile. “I didn’t know you were so concerned about my reproductive equipment,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling.

Napoleon huffed and tried to think of a snappy comeback. It was difficult with Illya a step away from naked. He opened his mouth, but then promptly closed it again.

Illya asked, “I’m glad to see you are making friends with your clipboard.”

“Very funny,” Napoleon said. “Let’s go to my office before you burst out of that suit.”

“I was about to say the same thing about you,” Illya said, still smirking.

Again, Napoleon failed to make a retort, despite his mouth opening. As the two walked to Napoleon’s office, they briefly discussed the mission that Napoleon just returned from, and when Illya commented on Napoleon looking tired, Napoleon asked, “Is that suit actually comfortable?”

Illya nodded. “It’s like walking in my own skin,” he said. “It will be perfect the next time I have to crawl through a sewer to save you, Napoleon.”

His voice low, Napoleon said, “I certainly wouldn’t object to being saved by you in that outfit. Talk about a sight for sore eyes.”

When Napoleon unlocked his office door, Illya’s hand casually brushed up against his ass. Any onlooker watching them probably wouldn’t have noticed, but Napoleon certainly appreciated the Russian’s sleight of hand. He liked the light touches Illya made, and Napoleon hated keeping his hands off of his partner. He liked any excuse to tease him or brush up against him, so it was refreshing whenever Illya casually returned his affections.

The two agents walked into Napoleon’s office, and Napoleon shut the door behind them by pressing Illya up against it. He pulled off Illya’s hood and tousled his blond hair, staring into his eyes. Illya kept the smile on his face, waiting for Napoleon to make his first move. Napoleon ran his hands down the front of Illya’s suit, pressing against his nipples when he found them. Illya stayed stiff and patient.

Napoleon quickly found the seam running down the front of Illya’s suit, and his fingers pulled back a thin piece of fabric that hid a plastic zipper. He started to pull it down, revealing Illya’s pale skin and chest hair beneath the black suit. He traced his lips against the skin the zipper revealed. He wanted to tease Illya like the suit teased him. “How does an erection feel in that suit?” Napoleon asked, kissing a section of skin on Illya’s stomach.

“I wouldn’t know,” Illya replied.

Napoleon raised his head to see his partner smirking. Napoleon purred, “Well, perhaps I should put it through some stress tests of my own.”

He stopped the zipper just below Illya’s bellybutton, and he pulled away from his partner briefly to remove his suit jacket. In his white dress shirt, tie, and shoulder holster, Napoleon returned to Illya. Kissing the Russian’s neck, he slipped his hands inside the suit. He found enough room to trace his fingers across Illya’s warm skin. He kissed Illya where his neck and jaw met. Illya finally touched Napoleon by lightly draping his arms across Napoleon’s shoulders. Napoleon squeezed Illya’s ass, feeling his own cock throb in response.

Letting his lips wander, Napoleon kissed where Illya’s collarbone and neck met before moving them down onto his chest. When he reached the Russian agent’s nipple, he flicked his tongue against it. He continued to tease Illya’s nipple with kisses and licks, all while firmly squeezing his ass. Illya squirmed against him, and Napoleon gave his partner a smug smile.

“Shall we inspect how the suit is holding up?” Napoleon asked.

He wanted Illya to tell him not to stop, but the Russian said, “Yes, of course.”

Napoleon pulled away from Illya, his hands suddenly feeling very cold without Illya’s warmth. Illya’s erection pressed up against the suit, and Napoleon could see the cock’s definition through the tight fabric. Napoleon pulsed, eager to bend Illya over his desk to fuck him, but he worked on a longer build-up. Napoleon put his hand against Illya’s covered erection and gave it a slight jerk as he asked, “Is it uncomfortable?”

“A little,” Illya replied. “I wouldn’t say it is any more uncomfortable than when you make me hard in my normal suit.”

Napoleon made a noise in thought, slipping his hand back into the fabric to jerk Illya off. He heard Illya’s sharp intake of breath. He kissed Illya’s neck and asked, “What about now? More or less uncomfortable.”

“Less uncomfortable for me,” Illya said, “more for you. How much are you throbbing in those tight suit pants of yours? I highly doubt they would hold up to the same tests I’m going through.”

“My suit is not the one being tested,” Napoleon purred. He undid more of the zipper to jerk Illya off harder.

“That’s just because you know it wouldn’t hold up to any fashion tests,” Illya replied, straining to keep his voice steady. He bucked into Napoleon’s grip.

“At least I have more than two colours in my wardrobe,” Napoleon said, flicking his tongue against Illya’s ear. He slowed down his pace, circling the head of Illya’s cock with his thumb. “Would you say the suit is close to reaching its limits?”

“Hardly,” Illya replied, though his voice sounded strained.

“Well, then we must try something new,” Napoleon said.

He finished undoing Illya’s zipper, but quickly realized there was no access to Illya’s rear. Napoleon frowned, more concerned about how he was going to enter rather than how Illya would perform basic bodily functions. Illya said, “I suppose it’s time to start running some tests on your suit. You better sit on your desk, Napoleon.”

Napoleon opened his mouth to protest, but he obeyed when he couldn’t think of an acceptable excuse. He blamed the long flight for his lack of wit or, at least, he did internally. And he hardly hated Illya taking control, especially when the Russian’s methodical fingers quickly unbuckled his trousers and easily pulled them off. He tossed them on Napoleon’s chair in one graceful movement. Illya was more careful when he took off Napoleon’s boxers, kissing the skin around his cock and testicles without actually touching them. While he slowly took Napoleon’s boxers off, he let his lips tease Napoleon’s pelvis until he tossed Napoleons boxers with his pants.

Laying back on his desk and against his paperwork, he arched up his body as Illya kissed the head of Napoleon’s cock. Napoleon’s hands reached behind his desk to try to fetch lube out of his drawer, and the process was made all the more difficult as Illya started to suck his erection and rubbed the inside of his thighs while he worked. When Illya’s hand began to rub Napoleon’s clothed chest, Napoleon finally felt the lube and put it on the desk.

Illya pulled away from Napoleon to grab the lube, squirting it onto his hand and spreading it onto his fingers. Napoleon kept his eye contact firm with Illya when the Russian agent pressed a dinger into Napoleon’s ass. Napoleon’s cock throbbed as Illya’s finger slowly worked his ass, pressing against the edges of it as it ventured deeper. Illya’s other hand simply held onto Napoleon’s thigh, leaving Napoleon’s erection aching for his touch.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he was content with any touch Illya gave him. Maybe after the girl’s rejection, he just needed to reaffirm himself, to know that someone wanted him. And Illya always seemed to want him, and he never grew tired of wanting Illya. Every touch felt familiar and foreign in the same moment, and it made him pant and want more.

But Napoleon wasn’t going to beg for it. He wasn’t even going to ask for it.

Pulling his finger out of Napoleon, Illya spread more lubricant across his erection before drawing the other agent’s body closer to him and knocking a few papers to the floor in the process. Napoleon gripped the edges of the desk as Illya slowly edged his cock into Napoleon’s ass. The Russian agent grabbed Napoleon’s legs, keeping them propped upwards while he began to pump deeper and deeper into Napoleon.

Napoleon gritted his teeth to wait for the pain to subside, and Illya continued his slow, safe rhythm to refrain from hurting his partner. Napoleon held onto Illya’s arms, bucking back to urge Illya’s pace along. Illya started to thrust faster and deeper, tightening his grip on Napoleon’s legs to pull his partner against him. A groan escaped from Napoleon when Illya pressed against his prostate and, with the smallest of smiles, Illya repeated the thrust several times, relishing in the way Napoleon shuddered against him. Napoleon let Illya’s name slip out from his lips.

Illya pumped rougher into him while Napoleon groaned freely, and Napoleon dug his nails into Illya’s arms as Illya hit as deep as he could, only to pull back and repeat the motion faster and faster. Napoleon curled his toes, feeling his peak coming too quickly, but finding himself unable to think of anything aside from Illya’s ass in the suit, which hardly postponed the process.

Illya suddenly leaned over Napoleon, kissing him. Napoleon cupped Illya’s cheeks, extending the kiss. Illya’s stomach rubbed up against his cock, sending him over the edge, and Napoleon broke the kiss with a groan as he finished onto his shirt. Illya kissed his neck as he continued to thrust into Napoleon, and Napoleon twisted his fingers into Illya’s blond hair to keep the Russian’s body against him. Illya finished with a quiet gasp against Napoleon’s ear that sent shivers through the agent.

Illya’s lips met Napoleon’s again, and Napoleon hugged Illya against him as he extended it. Panting, Illya pulled away from Napoleon. Napoleon grabbed a few tissues from his desk to wipe up. Once he saw the state of his shirt, he started to unbutton it. Illya began to peel out of his suit. Keeping his face serious, he asked, “Does the suit reach your requirements, Napoleon?”

“It exceeds my requirements, Illya,” Napoleon said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Though I still think you may want to consider the cup.”

Illya rooted through the drawers in Napoleon’s desk to find his spare suit. Napoleon absently rubbed Illya’s back, waiting for his partner to finish. Both agents tensed as they heard a knock on the door. Mr. Waverly cleared his throat and said, “If you two are finished with your own stress tests, we would like the suit returned so they can continue working on it.”

Napoleon grinned at Illya as his partner responded, “Yes, sir. We shall return it promptly.”

**Author's Note:**

> _originally posted on xisney.net_


End file.
